evening oozes over this dinner
plate town, we all bunch
up next to each other, confined
by the small stature of our limited city.
peas can’t help but touch
the mashed potatoes, no
wonder why some seem to always wear
a face of distaste.
in the copper and ore of early-Fall
evening-sun, that which is threadbare
is briefly gilded. we all wear the glow
of warmth in the setting sun, its chorus of cosmic
rays. driving home, i wend
my temporary vehicle through this
diner town’s lone roundabout. a scatter
of people riffling at its edges, loosely held
together by handmade signs
they sway and wave. among them,
“love your neighbor”,
with a painted heart. my heart,
also painted, trotting
a sweet sigh at the sight of itself on my neighbor’s
handprinted sign. i beep the car horn
in a show of support. the gathered wave
and cheer. my cheeks pink’d
like the shy sky, demure
in its longing for the departing sun. oh moon,
oh sun. oh scattered stars in storied sky.
help me not lose myself, should i
ever feel i belong. the narcotic
hypnosis of feeling a part of something, let
that not allow me to
forget that we all belong,
and there are no outsiders, and i am
my neighbor. oh heart, our hearts
are beautiful; look at them blossom
in puddles of paint, on handmade sign made
lovely, by the love of a neighbor.
zakschafer.com 